Sugar and Spice [SOV Dominion of Kessel]

[Lemon]

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An empty shell that lived one day to the next. There was no guidance, there was no goal. Instead small moments that brought brief excitement and entertainment. She brought some semblance of worth to the table, but she isn't here anymore. The pain brought on had all but left him now, and an acceptance of reality had swelled within him. Fett no longer cared. A regular life was as unobtainable as it was before, and he drifted further from it with each passing moment. This was his life now, he was: The Bounty Hunter. The Mandalorian. The Best.

Yet a miscalculation was made, a simple mistake lost to him during a moment of thought. There were more than he expected. The Devaronian turned, his thugs too, bolts of an assortment of colours were sent in his direction. Cutting through the tense air as Fett divided behind a wall that jutted outwards. The helmet's scanners were put to work, telling the wearer where each enemy was. Mandalorian technology was far from obsolete.

Frantic screams came from the room. The once bustling room turned into anarchy as patrons fled for their lives, rushing past Koda as the odd bolt struck them. He wouldn't fire through them; Fett only killed when he had good reason too, or when he was feeling rather rash.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

Location: Kessel Asteroid Field - Viewing Platform 7A
Objective: Schmooze
Present: [member="Nilia Saavilin"]

Tytos, crotchety old man that he was, did not find the artificial simulation of loud noises to be entirely pleasant. His face locked into an annoyed grimace until the podracers were finally out of range. What in the galaxy was the point of that? Did some people really find engine roars to be that essential to the experience? No wonder he usually didn't sign up for these things, or dabble in racing circuits of his own. This was the sort of low-brow experience best reserved for the likes of Gorba the Hutt.

"Not so much a bet," Tytos explained. "One racer lobbied my organization to cover his entry fee, under the stipulation he would pay it back plus interest once he placed in the top three." Tytos idly swirled the wine in his glass before taking a sip. There was no assurance the Krocktari would come out on top. The only reason the Syndicate had agreed was because the Krocktari had rich parents. Parents that did not approve of his podracing 'hobby' and would be forced to bail him out if he failed anyway. And if the parents refused to cough up the cash, then there were other ways of getting payment... Far more lucrative ones for sure.

The best kind of investments were the ones that would be paid back in full no matter what happened.

"I'm more partial to long-term investments than simple betting. Something I'm sure the Sovereignty can sympathize with."

 

[Nilia Saavilin]

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Throne​

so you can throw me to the wolves; tomorrow i will come back​

leader of the whole pack.​

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"Of course."

That was more like it. Another sip of her drink and she smiled up at the Umbaran businessman. Her eyes briefly wandered from the empty racetrack to the various monitors following the racers, before back to him, "Then, have any long-term investments caught your eye? The Sovereignty is interested in a few, of course, but these things go so slowly with a government our size..." Testing the waters, as they said. Something about Tytos gave her a good feeling, perhaps they would get lucky on the first try. Someone, after all, had to take over the spice operations of Kessel once the Sovereignty had disposed of the previous miners. And maybe, just maybe, he was it. Though that would have to be determined with time, of course.

As a waiter passed by Nilia set her near-empty glass on his tray, there wasn't a need or desire for alcohol now that things have changed. One couldn't be drunk whilst potentially planning out a trade deal.

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Spoiler: Interacting With

[member="Tytos Ardik"]

 

[Madison M. Maxwell IV]

Objective 2 - Monarchal Malarkey

bridges

Now we're burning all the bridges now​

Watching it go up in flames​

No way to build it up again​

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Heading towards [member="Varik Ice"], @Alyson Vale & [member="Tobias Zieba"]​

Sekhmet was hardly surprised to hear her comlink light up with activity moments after word of the Sovereign's arrival had spread through the Kessel Palace Guard ranks like fire on dry Orenda grass.

"He's a fethin' traitor, unhonourable scum," The Nautolan head of security, one Shoc Kitruk, spat out as he jerked his tentacled head towards a resting... Devaronian? And a Human sitting opposite of her, a rather jittery looking male, "You two, throne room. Double time it! The King's in danger!" At once the male was standing at attention, gripping his slugthrower tight and offered Kitruk a tight nod, "R-Right!" The unenthusiastic grunt of acknowledgement from the horned woman didn't seem to satisfy the squid, though, and his black pupil-less eyes locked onto her sitting form with ferocious intensity, "Hey, horn-head. I meant you too, this isn't a cantina."

Horn-head. That one was new. Without a second of hesitation the woman lunged forward, and for a second Shoc realized his mistake. Lady Devaronians didn't have horns.

The vibroblade didn't make a sound as it cleanly passed through the Nautolan's windpipe, and Sekhmet turned her eyes to Specialist Prost Unith, who only stared in surprise as she cut down their faux-superior, "Cantinas have nicer staff. Unith! You heard him, looks like the coup's started. With any luck there'll be something left to kill once they're done with 'em." Without a head of security co-ordinating, she could only hope some of the guards stationed farthest away from the chaos unfolding would simply remain there and not know to relieve their bretheren. Tearing off the patch that identified her as a member of security, Sekhmet unslung the slugthrower shotgun she had been permitted to keep and began to lead her squad member through the halls and towards the centre of the palace. They'd been this way on patrol, and she'd been careful to memorize every possible route and passage to the throne room in particular, all in preparation for this one singular moment. Hoo rah.

 

[Ashaiya Tser]

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"Racer Y" | The Kessel Cup​

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STREAM: ACTIVE!

RECENT COMMENTS
a mandalorian cartoon: z is best girl i'll fite all of you
Sneaky Pete: oh no, not the racer wife wars again
Foda Ketamine: KESSEL CUP HYPE KESSEL CUP HYPE KESSEL CUP HYPE

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"Wow, the ugliest room in our mansion..." Y sarcastically jabbed, the image on her helmet flashing through an eye-rolling sequence. Her helmet tilted to face the flag droid as it came in front of her, before they narrowed on the path ahead of her. "You can do better than that, Z," she continued as she stretched her gloved fingers out, before wrapping one about a joystick while the other teased at the throttle; "Throw in your new torque hydrospanner and I'll take it."

The banter was enjoyable, as always, but it was slipping out the back of the daredevil's mind. As Y toyed with the throttle, her thrusters gasped and drew in the cold of space in eager anticipation; her ship was unmoving, still on the line, yet it was almost seeming to boast. The light ticked forward to yellow, prompting her helmet to tip forward as the pilot eyed the track.

Yellow.

Yellow.

Gree-
There was barely a moment between the light on the flag droid pressing to green and the ship lurching off. It made no subtle entrance to the race: it roared, catapulting the single-seat craft into its second and third gears. The black of the hull blended in with the black of space, but the yellow stood in sharp contrast alongside the blue from the thrusters. The ship tilted, finding a better approach to a slight trajectory adjustment in the new angle.

Yet there was another: a ship hot on the daredevils tail, refusing to give quarter as it neared towards her. Y was well aware of it - while some were ahead of her, what she was most worried about was another hunk of steel cutting off her inside for her cornering angle. Simple fix, she mused to herself, her helmet flashing an image of a fish biting a hook while she pivoted outwards. It was almost a trademark: widen the inside, then cut off the opposing racer at the next corner. Yet come the next corner, the racer didn't take it: the ship simply lingered, its nose teasing towards the inside.

So it continued: a battle of speed interjected occasionally by wits, complete with the danger of high-speed racing. As an image of a thruster on a skeleton face flashed over her helmet, Y cut in front of the other pilot while pressing harshly on the throttle in neutral, but the pilot simply weaved around. She tried easing off as bait, but the pilot went for the outside instead. No matter what she did, the other pilot seemed to know what was coming.

As viewers of the stream started to catch on, activity in the chat surged. It was a simple word, but in Y's fandom, it carried a lot of weight. It meant something ridiculous was coming; and that's why Y's fans were there. As Y's helmet tilted towards the upcoming asteroid field, her ship still locked in a battle for the pass, a single image all but confirmed it.
A sniper rifle on her helmet.
The chat absolutely exploded. Who could know what would come next?

 

[Lynnori Cruz]

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Hey Brother​

oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you?​

there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do.​

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STREAM: ACTIVE!

RECENT COMMENTS
ElzSweepy: ugoo :3c
Ferris: HANK STOP IT HANK
Sala'Nari: owo m-muh iron man suit

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"Stream-sniper! What a fethin'... What happened to playing fair!?"

Leave it to Lyn to state the obvious. Her own mention of Racer Y's issues brought a surge to activity to her chat as well, mostly people hurling insults at the offending racer for poor sportsmanship. As Y fended off the cheater Lyn pressed her own advantage, in particular looking to pass [member=Jared Starchaser] in his sleek little fighter. The Sulit's nose began to 'ride his thrusters', as they say, essentially drifting behind his ship around the first tight corner of the racetrack, "Bit too close for comfort! Y'can practically see the fire in his jets." She joked, a few chat members agreeing as Z kept ensuring her fighter remained close on his tail, clearly seeking for an out to pass him in the race.

Whoom. A sound-emulated wooshing noise passed overheard as an asteroid whizzed by, just narrowly missing the top of the fighter. Now things were getting hot.

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Spoiler: Interacting With/OOC Info

[member="Xerxes"] [member="Ashaiya Tser"] [member="Jared Starchaser"] [member="Zek Koth"]

Spoiler: Interacting With/OOC Info

I don't know who we want to say is currently in the lead, but Lynnori definitely is not

 

[Zedd Harkor]

Lord Admiral Zedd Harkor​

Location: Kessel, Kessel System, Kessel Sector, Outer Rim Territories​

Objective: 1 -> New​

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FxRogd0RcEU​

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“Lord Admiral, sir-“, exclaimed a communications officer, shooting up from his chair in a fiery fashion; “Agents are reporting from inside the palace that the coup d’etat has begun. Their leaders are being slaughtered.”

“Excellent-“, responded Harkor, marching across the bridge room; “NAVIGATIONS!”, shouted Harkor, looking to catch the attention of those that worked at the navigations terminal, across from him; “Prepare all systems and engines for micro-jump into orbit of Kessel.”, Harkor turned to the communications desk; “Communications, order all vessels to do the perform the exact same: prepare for micro-jump into orbit. Operation is a go.”

The operation, of course, Harkor was referring to meant the now overt takeover of Kessel. The Kessel Cup had served as such a useful distraction, and although the Sovereign Navy wouldn’t be trying to takeover the palace now, instead, they intended to secure the planetary populace, replacing and targeting local ordinance as a means of providing the safe transition into the new monarchy they would install. This would all be done in but a moment’s notice, an aggressively-executed blitz unto the off-guard planetary defense forces on Kessel, with fighters and transportation shuttles on the stand-by to secure all local ordinances; this planetary-wide invasion would be supported by the several Adviser-class carriers, allowing for a wide, efficient repertoire of both Marine and Sovereign Army troops to be transported across the planetary surface; targets had already been designated with the estimated amount of resources needed to overwhelm the Kessel planetary forces. Following the sheer shock of their advance, Lord Harkor would demand a cease and desist to the Kessel forces, and those that did not oblige would be put down as traitors to the new union.

In the blink of an eye, each ship in the fleet’s engines burned a bright blue before ejecting themselves to the planetary surface of Kessel. Then, where once all burned a magnificent bright blue turned into a pounce from predator unto prey; all fighters and transport shuttles had burst from their respective hangars, looking to poach the planet that would soon be deprived of its leaders, soon later deprived of it's supportive populace.

 

[Cynan Hague]

Cynan Hague​

Kessel, Outer Rim
Assualt mobilizing security force​

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"Operation is a go." The words Cynan had been waiting for hours finally echoed within those long and dark halls of the cruiser, the drop-bay located underneath sheathed in an eerie blue light, as hundreds sit huddled in their steel coffins, waiting to be flung from orbit like stones, carelessly cast into the wading sea of battle - the people of Kessel would soon realize, the tide had come. The smoky blue lights flash a blinding red five times as darkness envelops the capsule, a one-second interval following each flash, feeling like its own drawn out and torturous eternity, an experience of patience and torture, it always was. Forced to gnaw eagerly at the big, to silently grapple with one's anxiety, or for a few, to hide their terror.

One after another a symphony of shrill metallic screams echoes out, each followed in short unison by the distinct thunder of depressurization and the rumbling thud of blast-caps firing, releasing positioned steel struts and launching their suicidal payloads. In a few seconds, a myriad of lights erupt beneath the ship, the orange-streaks guiding themselves down to the terror below as they rip through space carving a path of destruction down below, searing plumes of plasma steadily growing underneath each, turning the blue-gray paint into a dark sooty black.

The cold unfeeling steel of the controls sit heavy in Cynan's hands, a veritable army of displays and readouts positioned along the outer window, this was the hardest part, not in the sense of direct combat or action, this was the prologue to it all. The part itself was all too natural to him, the dance of combat nothing less than a way of life, showing up to the whole affair was the problem, that had become a common theme among them as the AECO Detachments had matured and grown, a uniform and malignant sense of foreboding anxiety. It was an all-together atrocious affair, to place infantry, special forces or otherwise, at the helm of an entirely impossible to navigate the vehicle, knowing their very lives depended on their efficacy, here more than at any other point in time. It was a very blessing on-high that all they had to do was point the thing in the right direction, but even that got difficult.

Atmospheric turbulence was always the fun part, at least that's what the sociopaths in the organization liked to tout. The pod rumbled and shook, gusts of wind and residual jet-stream activity of the upper atmosphere throws the pod about every which way as it rapidly gains speed. The vehicle turns and tumbles as the onboard computer systems rapidly calculate the most efficient thruster firing-pattern to restabilize the unit once it ceases this infernal activity. Usually, such currents aren't an issue for stellar vehicles, but the small one-man pods are like a feather caught in the overwhelming backblast of a jet engine.

The pod slices deeper into the atmosphere of Kessel as the RCS thrusters fire bright blue beams of energy, uprighting the pod in seconds, all the while the emergency breaking thrusters deploy as a single miniscule drogue-chute deploys overhead, supported by dozens of tiny steel rods, designed to snap into place on hard-contact, preventing the canvas from obscuring the unit inside, or preventing exit entirely. The ground below rapidly comes into view, approaching at an all-together terrifying speed as the breaking thrusters wait for the pilot to fire the one trigger they're provided, at least in terms of pod controls. On-board screens display the earliest time to fire, the optimal time to fire, and the absolute latest they can be fired without rendering the occupant little more than a biological mush plastered on a burning steel slag. Cynan himself was rocketing down to the roof of a building, were there any occupants, it would prove a very, very surprising evening.

A single press of a button sets into motion the last events of the orbital pod. Out of his, window Cynan watches as dozens upon dozens follow the exact same procedure, firing at different intervals, as judged optimal by their individual occupants. A storm befalls the small quiet city, not that of rain or hail, but blood and iron. Massive orange columns of flame fire below, The occupants inside are thrown upwards with a force that always did some damage. It was impossible to exit a pod without some heavy bruising, a few fractures in the worst of cases. The sheer amount of G-forces inflicted on the occupant was staggering, and more than any system small enough to fit in the pod could account for. Cynan is thrust upwards and lurches, a grunt of pain escaping his lungs as the synth-weave straps firmly arrest him to the seat, punching at his shoulders and chest with the force of a charging steed. A second massive impact strikes the pod, far less than the first but still riding on the coat-tails of the pailful usupring of comfort.

The pod had ripped through the roof of the building, in a few seconds it would settle and the door would be blast off by a series of explosive charges, intended not only to provide quick escape but to remove any obstacle that may find itself in the way, which in this case, happens to be a once-standing roof. All he could do now was breathe.

Don't think.

Breathe.

 

[Kyle Tethair]

Objective 3
Location: Al Burus Spice Mine

The two fireteams of Shanty squad methodically created a path of corpses which lead them further into the spice mine tunnels. Five lights swept a narrow hallway, at the end of which was a well lit opening leading into a massive cavern. Kyle could see bulky mining equipment and a sea of bodies in the 40 meter wide tunnel shaft.

Fireteam alpha and bravo entered the cave, finding themselves in the middle of a brawl. The slaves here had heard the ruckus of the fireteams fighting the slavers in the halls, and many scrawny slaves were now attacking their captors with mining picks. Corporal Macintosh's voice broke out over the sound of yelling slaves and dead men dying, "New orders lads, we're to evacuate the slaves to the hangar we came in through."

Kyle noticed several of the soldiers in Shanty squad attempting to fire their weapons at slavers, but stopping themselves at the last second as a slave would run into melee range of their slaver targets - many of those slaves ended up getting cut down by the blades of their captors, but that was an eventuality given the goal of their original task.

Chiron said what they all were already thinking, "Sir, I don't think we're going to be able to pry this lot off of their masters.."

Macintosh grunted, "Tell me something I don't know, private. Bravo, spread out along the right mine wall. Get any noncombatants up and on their way out of here. Chiron, I want you and Alice to make sure that the slaves find their way back to the right hangar. Move out."

Without a word, Alice and Chiron receded back into the hallways the squadron had just entered through while Kyle, Chiron, and Tetre dispersed into the crowd of fighting slaves and slavers. Kyle holstered his rifle and drew his vibroblade. He got in a few good licks with the blade as he made his way to the right wall, but most slavers were too busy defending themselves against their own slaves to do anything about Kyle as he moved toward his objective: a group of slaves chained to eachother, with one slave chained to a man who had been crushed by a large, toppled mining drill.

Kyle pulled a pair of bolt cutters from his backpack, and severed the chain at its center. Three of the nine slaves immediately rushed off to join the battle, armed with nothing but their fists, "Anyone who wants to leave, or arm themselves before helping us out, head through that hole in the tunnel over there."

He said, pointing back to the hallway opening.

[member="Iona Immarya"]

 

[Madison M. Maxwell IV]

Objective 2 - Monarchal Malarkey

bridges

Now we're burning all the bridges now​

Watching it go up in flames​

No way to build it up again​

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Heading towards [member="Varik Ice"], @Allyson Vale & [member="Tobias Zieba"]​

A Kessel family security guard got a shotgun butt to the face as the Saorsa moved through the halls, Specialist Unith letting out a quiet yelp of surprise afterwards, "He deserved it." There was a forelorn sigh from him as he nodded and raised his rifle to continue covering her back, "You know, I have a b--"

"Yeah, me too." She cut him off as they began to creep around an ornate corner, the guard behind them splayed on the ground, blood beginning to trickle from the wound on his head onto the fine tiled floor. Maybe a bit too hard. Wiping the scowl off her face, Sekhmet pressed her shoulder flat against the wall and peeked slowly around the corner, her nose wrinkling briefly in disgust. This palace, it was all light and beauty, and that didn't jive well with her primarily night-orientated sight. On top of that, getting to the throne room was harder than she had thought, clearly something was happening. And, of course, she had no communication with any other AECO members or the other Sovereignty allies in the castle, except for Unith, who at this rate was really only useful for his pair of eyeballs and nothing more.

Leaning back to look over at him with an annoyed glance, she quickly relayed what she'd seen. 5, far more heavily armed guards, heading towards them. Sekhmet nodded over to Unith, the grip on her shotgun tightening signifigantly. And, whipping around the corner, she blasted the first one she saw in the chest. He was behind her, rifle trained to get a killshot on one behind him, and the other three scattered.

 

[H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E]

HARDLINE stood on a mountainside overlooking the spice mines. He sat kneeled down looking quietly through some macrobinoculars. He watched as the spice mines which had opressed the people for so long burned. Smoke billowing from the huge pits in the earth. The wealth of the corrupt monarchy had been earned with the blood and sweat of these mistreated slaves. Now they were finally free. While the wealthy up above were distracted with the pleasantries of the race, on the ground real change was being made.

The people were finally throwing off the shackles of their opression; and when the people overthrew their shackles, they started to think about problems beyond themselves. This was the first step to finally ending the war and suffering that plagued the galaxy for well over 50 years now. While the galaxy had come out of the 400 year darkness, something far worse took its place. The wars that have been plaguing the galaxy for well over 50 years have killed more people and caused more damage than the Gulag Plague ever did.

When people got sick of the way things were they would seek change, and the only way to get slaves to see that there is another way is to show them that things can be better. That is what the soverignty had done that day. They had given the poor slaves a small lick of freedom, and at the same time dismantled the institutions which had enslaved them. The slaves would now want that freedom, crave that freedom. They would understand what they had been denied for so long.

Meanwhile the palace also burned, the filthy corrupt ruler who lived inside it being forcefully removed from his position. This world seemed to finally be looking for the better. This would be the first of many. While HARDLINE did not perfectly agree with the soverignty's values, he saw them as the most likely to bring about a long term galactic order, at-least, assuming it survived long enough. He would continue to manipulate events behind the scenes, driving the galaxy in the right direction. He would also help the Soverignty to grow and progress, whether they knew it or not.

The droid lowered the macrobinoculars, loading them into a small sack he carried with him.

"All is according to plan." He said, activating his cloaking device, slowly shimmering away into the environment.

Man is free at the moment he wishes to be.

 

[Dish]

[Operation is a go, proceed to objective Derkolo.]

A confirmation light winked green, and the small unit continued on. Leaving the Alliance had been a collective decision, but Dish and Carud had been the driving forces, Classact had been convinced, Fedaire and Wyver went along because they lost the vote, and 45 had just about as strong an opinion as he always did. That being none. Dish wasn't entirely sure he could speak at this point.

In all the years they'd fought together, he'd never said a word. But second-generation Dreadguard were made from folks who got torn apart and their only realistic chance at survival was to get put back together with the vong shaping's aid. Dish had volunteered, what was left for the Jorin clones anyway?

Standing together on a mountainside, the forward reconnaissance team watched as hundreds of sparks appeared in the night sky, each little speck of light carrying down men and women like [member="Cynan Hague"]. Bastards needed to hurry it up, Derkolo was getting antsy, Dish's fingers drummed against the barrel of his rifle, Finn was whistling again, and Classact had started doing that thing with his leg, it was boredom all around.

Still, they were in the field, he couldn't complain there. Even with the war Derkolo had been put on the sidelines, Carud had failed a psych exam and '45 still was not talking, so there had been talks of retiring them, which lead to the vote which lead them here, and while taking Kessel wasn't the same as opening up an Acolyte to see what was inside with his machete, it was a start. It had potential to grow.

He'd fight for that.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

Location: Kessel Asteroid Field - Viewing Platform 7A
Objective: Schmooze
Present: [member="Nilia Saavilin"]

Yes, galactic governments were something of a bull these days: slow moving generally, but implacable once incensed. It unfortunately took a lot to incense the more democratically, morally inclined institutions to action. When it came to Kessel's spice mines, there was little to incentivize the public to care, and therefore the government to act. And even if they did eventually act, that little matter of public accountability would hamstring real, decisive development.

This was ultimately why people like Tytos existed. He was not accountable to anyone but himself (to an extent, anyway), which meant he could act with the freedom and impunity the Sovereignty couldn't. So long as a facade of pleasantries could be maintained, few would be the wiser. Everyone made their money, and trifles like public opinion, outrage, and disgust could be avoided. What joy it was to be a proxy. So, speaking of investments and spice mines...

"Well, I would not presume to know the Sovereignty's agenda for Kessel's considerable spice deposits, but they had caught our eye..." Caught his eye. Yeah, right. As if he had been browsing at a flea market and just happened to come across the galaxy's premier spice producer. Like it wasn't a nightly occurrence for the past few weeks that he had dreamed of Syndicate spice mines dotting a barren landscape, shooting geysers of credit chips into the air. Wasn't that what most people dreamed about? No? Just him? "Perhaps you could elaborate on what the Sovereignty sees in Kessel's future."